Glenn McIntosh...Oakland University

Glenn McIntosh

It had always been my dream to attend Oakland University. When I was a pre-teen, my sister was involved with Upward Bound. We had went out there to drop her off one summer day, and I fell in love with the landscape. They've torn down many of trees that were there almost 37 years ago, and replaced them with dorms, a new world-class gym and a parking garage. Yet, I still remember the rows of trees that lined the campus, where it borders Walton Boulevard. I told myself that one day I would go to "this" school. After leaving prison, I came home and attended Oakland Community College (OCC). I got a second Associates at OCC, the first was in General Studies. I had gotten that, unknowingly, before I went to prison. My major was, and still is Management. I wanted my degree in Management, not General Studies, and I took it upon myself to get the second one in Management.

I love going to school, and OCC and OU don't care if you've been to prison. Sadly, Glenn McIntosh does. Before graduating from OCC, I applied to OU and got accepted. I felt awkward attending, and felt that I needed to meet with the Dean Of Admission, a woman named Evelyn Reynolds. She was very nice to me, shook my hand and placed her other one on top of mine. She was so endearing and told me that I was welcome and that I had nothing to worry about. I had graduated from OCC with a 3.69 in my first degree and 3.68 in my second and more than qualified to attend OU. The other stuff wasn't even a factor. I would feel right at home at OU. That was until the Pontiac Police got in touch with Glenn McIntosh.

Glenn McIntosh in 2010, was the Dean of Student Affairs. Today, he is Vice-President of Student Affairs. My mother and I was having problems at home, and I wanted to live on campus. I filled out the application for student housing and was accepted. I was slotted for one of the student apartments. I had even gone to look at an apartment that was similar to the one that I would be living in. I had planned to buy all the things I needed for my new place on campus, and was going to rent a U-Haul to move my things. I forgot, which day I was slated to move and called the school for my reservation. I was told that I no longer had a space in the apartments and that I needed to talk to housing about the mix-up.

I left school, one afternoon, and went down the road to OU. I went to the Housing Department and spoke with two of the people in charge. They explained that I had failed to check the box correctly that asked if I was a convicted felon. I was confused, because I had checked the box truthfully. I asked the same question I would pose to McIntosh later, "Why would I tell the university I had been to prison when I applied for admission, but not tell them when I had applyied for housing?" In my opinion that would be stupid and less than honest. They told me that I needed to go talk to Glenn McIntosh, because this had all been done at his request.

I got to his office and we talked. He revealed to me that the real reason that he didn't want me living on campus is that I was mentally unstable. He said that if I went to the school for a year, he would reconsider allowing me to live on campus. I told him that wasn't fair, because he had certified my acceptance to the school when I applied. That was his job, and I had got the I-Chat information from the State Police and he had accepted it. Since I was going to OU, I had the right to housing, and any other services that were a part of attending the university. Housing is part of the admissions process. He explained that I was 40 years old and he thought, because I was so old, I wouldn't be living on campus. Simply put, McIntosh told me nothing was allowed unless he wanted it to happen. He said that he didn't feel "safe" with me on his campus. I told him that I was going to OU, anyway, and that I would be around "his" students regardless. He looked at me, and said, "I could reconsider that decision, too".

I was floored. Here he was, a Black man, telling me he was about to throw me out of Oakland University and I hadn't even done anything. Then he went around the campus, telling the police and others that I was mentally unstable and to "watch out" for me. I went to class, and had people harassing me. One young woman sat behind me in Spanish and pushed a desk into mine, every time class met. After we established that it was annoying, I asked her was she comfortable, yet. In other words, would she be pushing the desk in the back of mine that day. That way, I could sit in my desk without her banging into the back of my seat. She said with a nasty attitude, "Are you still on that? That's been over as far as I'm concerned!" I looked back at her, and said in a low-voice, "Just checking".

At the second to last meeting we had, I called Elbert Hatchett and asked him what I should do. He told me to just let it go. What he was doing is discrimination. No one can stop someone from attending a educational institution, based on a known handicap. The Disability Act f 1979, outlawed discrimination against those with mental disorders. McIntosh had violated my Civil Rights, because as a person with a mental disorder, I was part of a protected class. Hatchett said if I raised that issue, he would surely kick me out of school. I was getting tired of driving to school 45 minutes, before class started to secure a spot in the parking lot. Even then, I would still have to wait sometimes for a space. I would pick students up at the curb, and drive them to their cars to get their parking space.

I composed a letter to the former Vice President of Student Affairs, Mary Beth Synder. I'm convinced that McIntosh had something on her, because she gave the letter to McIntosh. When I arrived to Spanish class that Wednesday, the campus police came to the door and spoke to my professor. She then instructed me to gather my things and go with the police. McIntosh had told me that the police there didn't like me. He explained that I had committed a crime against a fellow police officer, and they didn't care for me, because of that. I went quietly and peacefully, even if I didn't understand why I was having a police escort. I had never done anything at OU to warrant a police escort. 

They took me to his office, again. He asked me why I wasn't happy with the hefty check I got from financial aid. How come I was still causing him trouble? I told him what I said in the letter. He had treated me unfairly and I was tired of driving to the university everyday and it was causing wear-and -tear to my vehicle. I want my housing back. He went on to tell me that it was gone and there was no way I would get it. Besides, I had a mental illness and he wanted to wait for me to live on campus. I then asked him the 100 million dollar question for about the thousandth time. "Who told you that I had a mental illness, because I never disclosed that information when I applied?" He told me my mother and my sister. That was a lie!

Grizzly OU's Mascot

My mother and I were having problems, but she would never call the school and say anything about me. She's my mother! My sister, maybe, because those are things some sisters might do. The really spooky part, to me, is that he knew that I was having problems with my mother and sister, to tell such a good and relevant lie. He informed me that I would be going to see a psychologist at the school to determine my mental state. Knowing that there was nothing wrong with me, I agreed and signed the paper that gave permission for the conference. It was not a psych evaluation, at least that's what Dr. Shultz told me. We talk and I was then given a police escort back to McIntosh office, and I was given a police escort to the clinic, too. Through the common areas of the school with hundreds of students witnessing my situation.

I created packets of stuff about mental illness, my story and the Civil Rights law and gave them away to people at the university. Namely the Vice President of Inclusion and Diversity, a woman named Joi Cunningham. She looked at me straight in the eye and asked, "Do you believe your mentally ill?" I told her "No", and that's why I'm here. I've since been declared mentally ill by several so-called mental health professionals, and I just don't even think about it anymore. The last time I was institutionalized they gave me shots of Abilify that the Prosecutor forced me to continue and in February of 2016, I got diabetes. Now, due to pimps and liars, I have to deal with a medical condition the rest of my life.

I filed a complaint with the Michigan Department of Civil Rights. Another State institution that's a joke. I was then arrested for stalking Val Gross, three months after McIntosh's violation of my Civil Rights. I was in and out of jail and unable to aid in the investigation, which there really wasn't one. Law enforcement had intervened on McIntosh behalf and I wasn't really getting any action, anyway. A woman called me in jail, and said she would ask my mother and sister if they told him I was crazy. My mother said she spoke with her and told her "No". I don't know if she ever spoke with my sister or not. It doesn't matter, because that proves he knew and even more cause for him not to do what he did. You can't deny someone housing, because they are mentally ill! Unless, there is an issue with their behavior that interfered with the school's normal operations.

On the following Thursday, someone called me from the school to tell me I needed to come see Mary Beth Synder and McIntosh. I asked should I still prepare for my test in Political Science, and after being given the run around, I was told, "No." I told my mother that I was going to the school to get kicked out. Threw on my clothes and left the house. As we sat in the room waiting for Synder, he was suddenly deftly quiet. When she arrived she never spoke a word. Reading from a piece of paper, McIntosh told me that I was being suspended, until I had a full psychological evaluation. He claimed that I was in the middle of a psychotic break and that Dr. Shultz feels that I should get medical help, and couldn't continue as a student at OU.

I would later speak to Dr. Shultz, PhD. Not M.D. And he explained that he never told McIntosh that. He claimed to not have spoken to him after that day. So, it was all contrived. His lies were to cover up the fact that he had violated my Civil Rights, when he took my housing. But he further violated them, when he said that I was in the midst of a psychotic break. Who was he to tell me that I couldn't continue with my studies? I had to just let it all go. If the Civil Rights Department wasn't going to help me, I couldn't help myself, because I'm poor. The same reason they get away with their 

pre-trial blues. When the government is in charge of your justice, you rarely see any. I was embarrassed, discriminated against and unlawfully removed from school and no one cared. As a reward, I was charged with a crime I didn't commit and dragged through a system of pimps and whores.

McIntosh and my nemesises run in the same circles and have the same preferences. I can just imagine that Benny and the Jets, sanctioned him to get me out of OU. Give me a hard time and make my life there miserable. I know that I could have done things to prevent the circumstances that came upon me, but I hadn't done anything wrong and had not one mark against me at OU. I had been at OCC the entire summer without incident and had gotten A's in all my summer classes. In 29 days, I became a stark raving maniac that needed to be institutionalized. From a man that is supposed to represent what is good and productive in the Black community. Someone who is supposed to be a role-model and mentor to our young men and women. In reality, he's done very little or nothing for our community, because he has never lived here.

I was invited to OU by a young up and coming politician. I had to tell him that I'm on non-Grata status at OU. After illegally kicking me out of school, he didn't want me back on campus to talk to the President or anyone else. Someone would surely notice that I'm not psychotic. Non Grata, is Latin for not welcome. So, after all of the unwarranted and illegal things he had done to me, he made it impossible for me to come on OU's campus. For no other reason than the Pontiac Police didn't want me to go to OU, I was no longer welcome. Namely, Paul McDougal, who had taken my letters to the Prosecutor back in 2002 and got the whole ball rolling on putting me in prison in the first place.

 McDougal used to lie to my friend Patricia, back in 1991, around the time he beat her black and blue.  He would lie to her and say he was at OU studying when he was really out with other women. The idea that I was actually attending OU infuriated him, because that's a coincidence, don't you think? His alibi, was the place that I was kick out of, for no reason. His dream, was my reality, and I was not supposed to survive prison. The idea of me attending OU, was too much for him, and I believe he set out to do something about it. Because, it was obvious McIntosh had it out for me, but why did McIntosh have it out for me? Why would he even single me out for checking a box on an online application? What would even make him look? My mother never called that school, and if he lied about her, he lied about my sister, too.

There is no doubt in my mind that this was just another performance by Benny and the Jets. My mother was glad I was doing so well, and our arguments had never gotten that bad. So bad, she would sabotage my getting ahead in life. My mother is not that kind of person, and I despice McIntosh for implying that she is. Sadly, they are working hard for an encore performance at Walsh. They've worked so hard to destroy me as a person, but I keep winning. You forget about me relenting and giving them the satisfaction of saying they ruined my life. I have this semester at Walsh and one more, until graduation...Stay tuned...

The Entrance to Oakland University
Off limits to me

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I left Sears in 2002. At the time I was a junior at Baker College, but 10 months later was suspended from there. I arrested in front of my entire cohort group one Wednesday afternoon in 2003, and dragged off to jail. At the time, I had two things, positive, on my credit report. My car, and a recent credit card. My student loans were out of default and I was getting financial aid, again. My first Associates Degree was paid for by me and Sears Roebuck and Company. I hadn't had lights or gas in my name since, 1998. My car was repossessed, after I left school, because I no longer got student loans to pay my car payment and didn't have insurance. I was convicted of stalking, the lying asshole and went to prison the following year, 2004, after violating probation. Fast-forward to 2008. I come home, finish parole, and get out of default for the second time and start back to school in 2010.

When I came home, I didn't have a license. After four years, you can't just renew your license, but do the test and road test from scratch. My sister, the darling that she is, allowed me to use her car. Later that summer she gave me her old '96 Grand Am. That was, before I went back to prison for fighting my sister, in the hospital, and after my mother had a stroke. So, it's 2009, and seven years since the last time I had credit. I'm proposing getting another loan for school, and went to the fafsa website to see my loans and their amounts. While looking over the loans, I see a loan for $3,400 in 2005. Well, I was in prison in 2005, and this loan was taken out from Baker College. So, I blast Baker, but it was cancelled and "sent back". You know somebody cashed that check; right?

So, while I'm in jail the second or third time, I forget, cable is cut off in my name. My mother, never wanting it in my name, anyway. She cuts it back on in her name. It was all legit, and it was only shut-off, because I was in jail. They even sent me a check in jail, because my mother had paid the bill. When I get home, I called and asked if I owed money, because they sent the check back to me. It was like we had gotten a month free cable. The lady started looking up my account. Our home phone was no longer attached to my account, but to my mothers account. She had to look it up by my social security number instead. All of sudden the operator asked me, "Which address are you asking about?" Something went all through me. Because I had found out that some one had put Direct TV and lights and gas in a house in Inkster. Now, they had put cable in my name in the tune of $3,000. The lady said for equipment for home security.

Not only had those people put lights, gas, and satellite in my name. They had also had cable in my name on DePlanche in Inkster, and two months later moved. Taking with them all the equipment afforded them by these companies and running bills up over $7,000. Using up my name and simply moving on. I did all the normal stuff you do,I contacted Experian, Equifax and Trans Union. I contacted the Department of Commerce and they put my social security number on hold. When they asked in the paperwork, where the breach occurred I told the truth.

My niece, had a similar problem with her social security number being used in a similar fashion. We had two things in common. Baker College and the Oakland County Jail. That's exactly what I told them on my paper work. Oakland County Sheriff's Deputies had to come to the house to make a police report. I needed to call them, because I needed a police report number to file the Identity Theft paperwork. Because of the lying asshole I couldn't go to the substation. The male officer took my identification, and ran my name. I had called them, and would have been a fool to call the police if I was wanted or had a warrant for my arrest. After their attempt to get yet another prostitute in the jail, they took my statement, gave me their card with a report number on it and left. I still have that card, today. It came in handy last summer.


Last summer, I discovered that three houses in Detroit had lights and gas in my name. When I found out and called DTE Energy, they told me that they couldn't tell me anything, because I might be the thieves. Well, I cussed them out. Then, I told them to shut the gas and lights off in those addresses. Because, at first, I only knew about two addresses, but calling everyday, and talking to new and different operators, I found out new information, everyday. I actually went down to Detroit, and to the house on West Outer Drive. I took pictures of it and end up running out of gas about a mile from the house. I had to call my 75-year old aunt to bring me gas. Before she came, however, a man came and gave me $10. Being who I am, I had a purse full of money. I just needed a gas can and some gas. The man went and got the gas, but the can he bought didn't work. I was holding up traffic, because I had stopped in the middle of the street. I could see cars in the rearview mirror stopping, just before ramming into the back of my car.

Like the angel she is, my aunt was standing in the parking lot with her old-fashion gas can. She stood there watching us struggle. I finally noticed her and she looked amused. She said, "Y'all was getting more gas on the ground than in the tank!" I was so anxious and frustrated, but I made it back to her house, and gave her back her gas can. She wouldn't take money for the gas. I got the lecture, about being irresponsible and taking the risk of coming to Detroit to locate the people who were stealing my name and running up a light bill. I was so hot, however, and wasn't even thinking. Come to find out that it is a scam that drug dealers use to grow marijuana. They use the utilities in other people name, and heat the house and use the electricity for the LED lights in their grow houses. That's when I knew it was the police. I'm not sure that DTE wasn't involved, I'd made a claim three years before, and had an outstanding balance. They claim if the balance isn't over $100 that they could turn on serivce, and add the balance to the first bill.

These grow houses are rarely lived in. They are mainly used to grow weed, and the dealers live elsewhere. They come to check on the plants from time-to-time, but they don't actually live at the residents. Unless it was the day they checked on their plants, I wouldn't see them there, anyway. I just pictured some hood-rat coming to the door, with a baby on her hip and using my name, because she ran up lights in her last house. That's not the case, it was drug dealers, because they ran up a $500 light bill in less than 45-days. I kept pissing the OCSD off, because everytime Michael Bouchard was on television fighting a cause, I'd intervene and write the people a letter. I would tell them that he was running prostitutes out the clinic and he couldn't help anyone do anything. He first needed to help himself. These black cars and trucks would greet me outside OCC, after one of those letters, but...

He then, would come down on his jailhouse deputies and they would in turn get mad at me. He doesn't really care what they do, because he doesn't accept mail from inmates. I guess, he wants to act like he's doing something about their criminal activities. When they get pissed at me, they do what they did in jail, they do something to make me suffer. I've written a lot of letter. The woman whose baby was left alone, while its drug addicted babysitter got high is my favorite. She just cried outside the courtroom, because the woman who wrecked her car and put her child's life in danger, got six months or something like that. I wrote her and told her she was a Trustee and the biggest whore in the jail, and that she got that little bit of time for prostituting. I'm sure they convinced her that I am crazy, but I keep on writing...

Mr. Postman...

US Postal Truck

Well, my mailman hates me. I mean, we've had the same mailman for about 15 years now. He's a skinny little crackhead looking man that wears glasses and sorta pimps when he walks, but he don't like me. About two years ago, our landlord got a letter from the post office saying that we would have to put our mailboxes outside our covered porch. Mail carriers don't have to come on our porch to deliver our mail. We had lived here then about 29 years. Our landlord had been living here for about 50, and postal workers wo deelivered the mail, came on the porch and put it in the appropriate boxes. Sometimes, we would get a relief worker, who didn't subcribe to that, and would open the screen door and put it inside the door. My mother would be really pissed, but she would simply sort it, and put our landlord's mail in his box and bring ours on up the stairs.

I went out one day, while he was delivering our mail and asked why he's doing this. He claimed that we had been calling and complaining about his mail service, and he had to do something to even the score. If we were going to call and complain about him, he would no longer bring the mail on the porch. As a part of his job description, he doesn't have to come on any ones porch, and deliver mail. Just like he doesn't have to deliver mail when your walk isn't shoveled. Something about safety risks. I apologized and explained that no one from our house had complained about him. There is our landlord, but he would never do anything like that unless it was really serious. He said that he knew the complaints had come from us.

I didn't know how he knew that, when no one in our household had complained about him. My landlord got the new boxes and put them outside our door, and it was a great inconvience, but what could we do? Even if the situation had been that they came on the porch for 50 years, the post office said that he had the right to change that at any time. He did, and we've been living with it ever since. In the winter, I try to get the mail out the box, because you can't just open the screen door and reach out and retrive the mail. You have to step outside and get it, by going around the door. He is so nasty and beligirent to my mother. He never says a word to me, because we would probably get into a fist fight. He has said some horrible things to my mother or talks to her with a demeaning tone. So, even if he comes when I'm getting in my car, I never say a word. Even when he doesn't close the gate.

But I notice the way he deals with the drug dealer across the street and his children. They don't think I know that he's a drug dealer. Furthermore, I don't think they know that I know the mailman can deliver drugs through the mail. If that is what's going on, then I understand the turmoil completely. Not only with the US Postal Service, but UPS and FedEx, too. I guess he doesn't know that my brother and father were involved in drugs in Pontiac. You can't be involved with drug people all your life and not understand what's going on. The players may change, but the game stays the same. Sending drugs through the mail is risky, but 100% doable, if you have the postal service on both ends covered. Cause those people who work at the post office are suspect, too. A woman I know, who worked at Sears got a job at one, when she left Sears.

UPS Truck

Carrying drugs as a mailman isn't hard, because you're a federal worker, and not subject to local, county or state rules. In fact, your almost untouchable. Except, where your supervisors and federal rules apply. I can recall, this same mail man having a supervisor coming to check on his delivery of the mail, and once being aided in physical delivering the mail by someone from the post office. As I rode past them, he looked into my car with the nastiest look imaginable. I thought to mysel, "This man thinks I have something to do with this!" But why would he think that? My mother and I don't call the post office about him. One day, I told him that he was putting the wrong mail in the boxes. He turned around and said, "Well, you can call the post office about that, too"!  I exclaimed with a chuckle, "What?" But he only repeated himself, "You can call and complain about that. I know you been calling the post office about me."

No matter what I said, this man would not believe me. Our relationship with our mail-carrier is the pits. Lately, he's been leaving the boxes open during the rain and snow. I got my Essence magazine and it was half soaked. I had to wait for it to dry, in order to read it. The post office would send other carriers to our area, when our regular mailman was off, and they did the same type of stuff. I guess he had told them about us. But we have never called the post office on him. We did call on a carrier that wasn't him, because our mail was left on the floor, wet and tore up. He felt he had to tell us about that too. He ended his smart remarks with, "And that wasn't even me!" I told him, I don't care who it was. We don't want our mail delivered like that, anymore. So, he's been thoroughly brainwashed against our address.

But I've witenessed him hand deliver mail to others, coming out of residents homes, like he had just been fed and had tea. Yet, he walks up to our door with an attitude, leaves the gate open and doesn't bother to put the lid down on the box. He's a drug pushing mailman, who has been turned against us by the police, in order to keep his drug dealing a secret. I don't know why they didn't think I'd figure it out. While working at Sears, a cess pool for illegal activities, FedEx guys worked there as a second job. Not for the paycheck, but to steal. There are no drug sniffing dogs or X-ray machines with any of these organizations, unless there is a problem. All you need is a person at point A and point B to send and recieve the package, and a carrier to make sure it gets where it needs to be. It's just that simple.

Besides, it could be shipped as anything. I just saw kilos of cocaine being shipped as pineapples. But Mr. Postman is a trip. He really could care less about us or our mail. He treats the dope dealers in the neighborhood with courtesy and respect. Yes, I do know who the drug dealers are, and I bearly leave my house. But it's not that hard when you know what to look out for. In Pontiac, since the OCSD has taken over the Pontiac Police has to hide their drugs, because OCSD may want a cut. Or the other scenario is that this is how the OCSD gets their drugs into more rural areas. Either way, the postal service drug dealing is old and tired. Nothing new to me. What we need is a new postal worker to take over his route. They'd probably be brainwashed, too.

Adding to the list of people trying to run me off the road, FedEx and UPS trucks. They know what I bought for Christmas and from whom. I bought three pairs of UGG's from Nordstram Rack, and when I walk into certain places like Walmart, the workers look at my feet. So, if you are into it with the police, and your mail is late. That happens to me all the time. I always sign up for email notifications, because there is a chance I won't get my mail. So, go paperless on everything. Your packages arrive late or not at all. The crookedness, also control the post office, FedEx and UPS. It only makes sense...

FedEx truck

Lately, I've been seeing a number of these mini-trucks in Oakland County. What are they, because they aren't marked with any logo or company name.

Mysterious mini white vans